The Forging of Hope
by TolkienScribe
Summary: Conditions lead two Elves to look for hope among the Race of Men. Not romance. Set from Early Third Age to the end of Third Age. One shot. Complete. Please read and review. :)


**Author's Note :**

 **Disclaimer :** Not one Elf or tree.

Rated T for safety.

This is pure friendship. Please respect this viewpoint.

Flames are not appreciated. Constructive criticism is welcome.

(Fair warning. There is small play with canon. Might irk the purists.)

Enjoy!

* * *

"Sire! Here!"

Thranduil turned sharply. He was still unused to the title. Somewhere in his mind, it was branded into him that title belonged to his father. He faltered at times, wondering why his father did not answer this type of a summon before realising it was him with the crown.

The Elf who called him was standing in a cluster of Elves and Dwarves. The Dwarves were obviously waylaid by Thranduil's soldiers for questions. At a time like this, they were more than willing to set their differences aside. Thranduil made his way to them quickly.

"Did they find him?" Thranduil asked before the soldier could speak. He nodded wordlessly.

"Floating downstream," the Elf said.

"And they did nothing to retrieve the body!" The tension that hummed inside him made him lash out. Thranduil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and willed to calm himself.

"They said they could not swim and would have lost themselves in the current."

"Double the search! Find him!" The order was given loudly, making every soldier around Thranduil snap to attention.

It did not take them long. There was a lull in the river current that brought them to their quest. Thranduil was further away when he heard the shout.

"King Thranduil!" The Elf who called him was downstream, his companions deep into the water. They seemed to be struggling with something heavy. With his chest constricting with foreboding, he found he could barely breathe as he ran up to them.

The body they pulled from the river was already wasting from the water. The skin was pale from the loss of blood, the black hair dark and wet. Numerous arrows protruded from the back. The Elves bringing him to shore struggled slightly from his combined weight of dead flesh, armour and water. He strode into the river, making loud splashes and with a strength he did not know he possessed, he grabbed the body and hauled it straight out of the Elves' arms and out on the riverbank.

Once there, he pressed his hand on the dead king's forehead and wept. The body was already beginning to decompose. Some features were not recognisable. Had they not caught up, the swift currents would have taken away the body forever. Thranduil did not care if his composure was gone. The grief was still too near. The loss of his father still haunted him in spite of the years. The hurts of Dagorlad still ran too deep. Even the most lowest of soldiers was plagued with the horrors of that war. For all his flaws, Isildur was a brave man, driven and compassionate. But curse be upon Sauron, for twisting Isildur's heart. His choices after Dagorlad grew poor slowly and steadily.

And now it led him here, dead, beside a riverbank with his company felled by the evil creatures and only the Elves nearby to grieve for his passing.

"Lord Elrond!"The cry was far off but to Thranduil it sounded as if it rang within his skull. The pain jabbed into his heart again but he reined in new tears and with a soft murmur of prayer, closed Isildur's half-open eyes. The scattered footsteps behind him told someone as devastated as he approached him. He knelt beside Thranduil.

"You knew." Thranduil said simply. His voice was surely not his own. It sounded like his but there was hoarseness to it.

"I foresaw it." Elrond said. He was to stunned, too still. He did not reach out to touch Isildur's body.

"And yet you did nothing to stop it." There was no anger or hate in Thranduil's statement. Thranduil only sounded weary, as if the weight of the world now pressed down upon him. Looking at Elrond, Thranduil assumed he felt the same way.

"You and I both know there is no way to discern which path leads to which outcome." Elrond said. Finally his face crumbled to give way to grief and sorrow. He leaned forward and stroked Isildur's soaked hair. The Man's head rested on Thranduil's lap, the rest of his body in an awkward angle given the arrows in his back. The Elves who had pulled Isildur free from the watery currents respectfully withdrew, leaving the two noble figures to their shared sorrow.

"With each passing of the Men of Númenór, I feel the pain of my brother's passing anew." Elrond said. His voice was soft, barely higher than a whisper. "Each of his descendants resemble him in some way. Isildur resembled his free spirit, his willingness to do difficult tasks that many feared." Elrond barely spoke of his family. While his twin brother Elros was mentioned in passing now and then, Elrond remained silent when it came to his parents. It took the hold of a memory or emotion for Elrond to broach the subject.

"Had your brother been here in his place," Thranduil asked slowly. His tears had dried completely now. Elrond's eyes were overly bright but the half-Elf had not yet wept. "Had he been here in Isildur's place, what choice would he have made? Would he have kept the ring?" He was too bold, he knew. Elrond was volatile when it came to his family. But when he spoke of Elros, Thranduil could not help himself.

"My brother?" Elrond asked with a short humourless laugh. "Once he squabbled with Maglor after two weeks they brought us to their fortress. In his anger Maglor asked what Elros would have done in their place? Would he have forsaken the jewels his father wrought and the Oath to retrieve it. My brother shouted nothing in the world would force him to approach objects so foul and never would they seduce him to power and glory. We were children then. To this day I believed in what he said. My brother was strong. Nay, I do not believe he would have fallen to the Ring's whispers."

Elrond stared down at the descendent of his brother. Then his eyes met Thranduil's. Instinctively Thranduil smiled. Elrond started at the sight of it before returning it with one of his own.

Then suddenly Elrond's face changed.

"The Ring!" Elrond said. His voice rose and he shot straight up on his feet, startling Thranduil. "Where is the Ring?"

Thranduil looked up at Elrond before fixing his gaze at Isildur's body. Both Elrond and Thranduil did a quick search of the body before they were certain it was missing. "Tell me not it is in the hands of the Enemy." Elrond said faintly. Thranduil felt his own dread rise at the possibility. The peace was too hard-worn. The cost was too high. Middle-Earth was not ready to take part in another war.

"Impossible," Thranduil found himself saying. "You know as well as I we have killed all Orcs. None escaped. Of that I am sure."

Elrond paced agitatedly for a few minutes before halting at the riverbank. His hands were clasped behind him as he contemplated the waters. Thranduil rose and joined him. He too stared at the body of river Anduin, the waters swirling and crashing against thd banks.

"Surely you do not think-"

"Is there any other explanation?" Elrond asked with a bitter smile. "He wore it to flee. I warned him it would betray him to his death and yet he did not listen."

Thranduil clasped Elrond's shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

"The Isildur you knew was the young man brave and proud with a famed prowess in the battlefield and a just heart. The man who took the Ring and claimed it as an heirloom to his household was not the man you knew."

"Still, how many? How many of my brother's descendants to fall to the lure of the Ring. Think not that it is gone, Thranduil," Elrond added when Thranduil opened his mouth to protest. "You know as well as I it seeks to join its master. Would that we destroyed it in the belly of Mount Doom when we had the chance!"

"What is done is done, my friend. Grieving on the choices of the past blinds us from the decisions of the future." Thranduil consoled him. He paused and thought for a while on Elrond's words. Then he continued, "And as for your fears, I pray then a Man from your brother's line to rise when the day comes to vanquish the Ring's power and to cripple Sauron forever. And let this Man be an image of your brother, with his heart just as firm as his."

Elrond looked up at the new king before he even stopped speaking. There was renewed hope in his eyes and his face was set in fierceness of a warrior ready for battle but waited for the drums of war to sound. He reciprocated Thranduil's gesture by placing his own hand over Thranduil's shoulder.

"Indeed, let it be true." Elrond said fervently.

* * *

Elrond studied Aragorn's face carefully. Experience in the Wild taught Aragorn to seem impassive, his emotions hidden behind a well-formed mask. But now chinks appeared in the mask as he looked down at the object resting on Elrond's table in confusion.

"A ring?" Aragorn asked incredulously. "You summoned me here, father, to examine a ring?"

Often Elrond looked upon Aragorn and saw in him the colours of his brother Elros. His firm heart, his driven soul, his disgust for all things unnatural and evil was so close to Elros' personality that it sometimes pained Elrond.

"It is not just any ring, my son." Elrond said. He kept his voice even. "Look closer."

Aragorn complied. For a moment the Man looked at the Ring with a furrowed brow. Then his face cleared slightly and fascination took root. Aragorn's hand moved towards the Ring and Elrond felt his heart sink. But before Elrond could grab the Ring and remove it from Aragorn's view, the Man jolted as if he was suddenly snapped awake. He pushed back in his chair, making a loud screech over the stones. A look of fear and disgust was on his face.

"A poor trick, beloved father," Aragorn said. His eyes remained on the Ring as if it were a poisonous thing. "I do not know what you come by with this but it was in poor taste indeed."

"Perhaps," Elrond agreed. His relief and joy was difficult to stifle and it seeped into his voice. He was tired from tending to the Hobbit Frodo Baggins but when he found the Ring in his pockets, Elrond could not help but test Aragorn with it., could not help but discern the future of Gondor, now that his foresight was mostly clouded.

He produced a fine chain he had the smiths forge for the Ring and carefully looped it without his fingers touching the polished gold. It will return to Frodo Baggins, since he seemed the only one to have resilience to the Ring's power. It called even to Elrond, but wisdom destroyed the sweetness of its seduction. Aragorn continued to eye it with distaste.

"But I will not lie how it gladdens my heart to see you despise the Ring so. It shows your character is pure, at least enough to separate good from evil and not justify the evil to be used for good."

It also gladdened Elrond's heart, to see such a strong Man born in such difficult times. But Elrond did not give this thought voice.

* * *

"Hail, the King of Gondor."The softly spoken voice was heavy with wisdom. Aragorn turned at the sound. An Elf stood underneath an archway, a small welcoming smile upon his face. His robes were richly green. A crown rested upon his head.

"Hail, the King of Eryn Lasgalen," Aragorn returned. He was fully aware of his own regal garb. Standing opposite to one another, Aragorn was struck by how their clothes resembled their countries. Thranduil's robes complimented the forest he left behind to visit Aragorn and Arwen in Minas Tirith. And Aragorn's black and red robes resembled the strength and power of the Númenórean Men.

Thranduil's lips curved into a deeper smile and he looked up at the White Tree with a serene expression.

"It has grown swiftly, or so the guards tell me."

"They have told you true."

The two kings stood side by side in companionable silence. Thranduil always resonated power from his form but it was softened by the air of joy and contentment around him. He had lived through many hardships, Aragorn knew, but Thranduil survived them all. He reminded Aragorn of a rock, weathered down but never not broken.

"I still remember when you were but a child," Thranduil's tranquil voice broke through the silence. Aragorn found he did not mind. Then Thranduil's voice became amused at his next words. "You spilled water over my papers I written concerning the negotiations." Aragorn's cheeks grew warm.

It was a tale he barely remembered but it was one almost everyone mentioned. Thranduil had visited Rivendell for trade negotiations. While he was busy at work, and almost done after many hours, Aragorn entered carrying a crystal glass of cold water for the king he greatly admired. Instead the child tripped on a turned piece of carpet, sent the glass sailing until it smashed against the edge of the table and soaked the lowermost papers on the table surface. Thranduil was chuckling quietly.

"And here you are," Thranduil said before glancing at him in amusement, "a king."

"Pray not repeat the tale to someone I will regret." Aragorn murmured.

"Ah, so does that mean I am allowed to tell the Steward this tale, as long as he does not exploit it?" Thranduil asked. Then he laughed merrily before Aragorn could reply. "Fear not! I have no intention of telling any except your lovely wife. A married lady should have something in her favour if her husband proves lacking in any way."

In spite of himself, the amiable tone of the Woodland King made Aragorn laugh.

"I see my lady wife is never lacking in allies!" Aragorn remarked.

"No lady wife should ever lack allies!" Thranduil asserted. Laughter rose up between them. And then before it finished, Thranduil placed his hands on Aragorn's shoulders and brought him in a tight embrace.

"Blessed be," he whispered in Aragorn's ear. "You were not named Hope without reason, son of Arathorn. Your heart was pure, and as you grew, you became a fine Man." Thranduil pulled apart and waved about him, at the White Tree growing in the sunlight, at Aragorn's marriage ring, the green-jewelled brooch on his cloak and where they stood. "These were hard-won and a just reward for your service. Enjoy them, Aragorn, I bid you. And it brings me great joy to see Gondor prospering as it should. Isildur would have wanted the same, whatever flaws he had." Aragorn only nodded in silence at the heartfelt words.

They stood for a while longer before making their way inside, eager to greet the new day in bettering the lives of the people.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I hate my muse. It likes to exploit pain. It kept me up from my much needed rest to write this down. Anyway, hot chocolate and story revision go well together apparently.

I did a little play with words. Tolkien said that Isildur perished in the river and no trace of him was found by Elves or Men. Well, Dwarves are a separate race, right? (What? They are!). So they found him first! And Thranduil and the rest of the Elves simply hauled him out.

Anyway, I like to think the poor Man was given some reprieve after the bearing the One Ring.

The idea behind this one-shot was to explore more than just a few details. I wanted to explore the Elven foresight and wisdom, the grief over Isildur's passing (I don't think many fans grieved him but I did), I wanted to explore the reason behind Aragorn's name "Hope" and why Elrond may call him such. I also wanted to layer the story with emotion, going from grief, sorrow to prayer and hope to uncertainty to joy and contentment.

So do leave a **review**. :)


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